


More Tall, Less Blonde

by TheDevilOnioah



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Impressions Bingo prompt, But Otherwise Teen Rating, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mature for all the mentions, Mentions of Rape, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Socially Awkward Peter Parker, Soft Wade Wilson, Spideypool Bingo 2019, Wade Wilson is a bro, be safe kiddos, he doesn't get out much, in a nondescript way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDevilOnioah/pseuds/TheDevilOnioah
Summary: Peter Parker doesn't go out that much. Spider-Man, sure. But Peter by himself, because going to a nightclub with MJ is going to end up with him alone at the bar, is nothing to remark at. Which is why he's so surprised when a nice man offers him a drink, except this "nice" man quickly turns out to be not the right sort, and when Peter wakes up to a leather wearing, gun totting person of about the same height he decides he's not going down without a fight.





	More Tall, Less Blonde

“MJ!” he calls over the sound of a thousand people packed into the nightclub like sweaty sardines, “Mary Jane!”

“Fuck you!” he hears from a cluster of people grinding in the middle of the floor.

Peter holds a thumbs up as high as he can, though she’s probably not even looking his way. He wasn’t assigned designated driver, but his alcohol tolerance, and MJ’s tendency to drink like the world is ending, means he prefers to keeps tabs on her, just in case. There’s very few times when Peter goes out with his friends that he even tries to drink because it’s simply not worth the money for a brief buzz and then peeing it out five minutes later. 

Tonight is a little different. MJ had convinced him to come out purely for fun, since any time they went out with Harry and MJ’s other friends Peter had a tendency to be pushed to the background. It wasn’t like Peter didn’t try to go through the social niceties, but there wasn’t much to talk about when his whole life consists of one of two things. Without going into the superhero details of his free time Peter could pretty much sum up his life in two sentences. In fact, he has a spiel that he’s gotten down to a science.

_ Hi, I’m Peter. Yeah I take photos in my spare time, mostly portraits but I like to landscape as well, which is how I ended up working at the Daily Bugle and it’s really close to my place in Queens. No, sorry, I can’t take your picture, or your wedding photos, or your sister-in-law’s wedding photos for free. _

And that was it. Sometimes he had the rash urge to add in that he’s bisexual in the middle of it, especially when it’s one of Harry’s friends. They tended to be the business major type who call themselves entrepreneurs and think photography is limited to taking photos of buildings for lease. 

_ No, sorry, I can’t do your start-up business portfolio pictures for free. _

Peter isn’t in high school anymore and the subtle bullying that always seems to occur in a swarm of silver spoon adults drives him up a wall. He usually left any gathering with Harry’s friends before he could be picked out as the responsible pushover type. Because he’s _ not. _

He’s sitting on this stool at the bar, not ordering anything, watching the tail end of a conga line going backwards turn into something that might be a four-way. He would leave right now if MJ wasn’t drunk off her ass talking to a guy while grinding into a girl. It’s not like he’s getting any action tonight.

Almost immediately after that thought there’s a smooth voice to his right, “Hey, brunette!” Peter swivels around as a blonde and tall man slides a drink in front of him, “Got a free drink for you, handsome.”

His smile is filled with rows of straight, white teeth and quickly disarming. Peter never thought that he would be hit on at a club, let alone a club that doesn’t cater to the LGBT community. His spidey sense has been a constant ring his ears since he got to this part of town and it picks up now that someone is closer to him.

“Oh, wow, thank you! I’m sorry but I don’t dance and, um, I can’t pay you back for this,” Peter brushes back his hair nervously, unsure what the proper gratitude for the ‘here’s a drink since you’re hot’ move is.

The man shrugs and sticks himself further in between Peter’s seat and the next person over. There’s far too many people for an open space to be left, but he squeezes his way next to Peter’s thigh anyhow.

“I’m not a huge fan of dancing at places like these, either. But I was wondering if you’d spare a moment of your time for me? You caught my eye, and I’d love to talk to you.”

Lifting his brows, Peter tries to ignore the awkward pick up line in favor of trying to discourage this guy from pursuing him. He’s not looking for late night stands and the increase of warning from his senses keeps him from being truly flattered.

“Uh, right. Look, thank you for the drink and, ah, attention, but here and now isn’t really my scene if you understand me. I’m taking care of a friend.”

At that the man straightens and looks around as if he could suddenly pick MJ out of the crowd, “Really? Where at?”

“Um, over there,” he points vaguely in the opposite direction of where he last saw MJ.

Pressed so close together Peter can hear a small sigh out the man’s nose before he nods and smiles again. 

“Of course! I didn’t mean to interrupt your night. But it’s hardly like one drink will hurt and you looked like you could use some loosening up.”

Peter snorts at the innuendo, unintended or not, and stands up. The man is starting to make him feel uncomfortable in the small space and his spidey sense is going up and down at random intervals. His best bet is to get MJ out of here and into a cab before she goes off with someone else and call it a successful night.

Squeezing awkwardly out of his seat and into a moving throng of people, Peter quickly tosses back the drink to appease the man. Another spike of warning passes through him and when he sets down the cup to see the man is almost grabbing his arm, looking concerned.

Peter waves him off, “You’re right. One drink doesn’t make a difference to me,” and he follows the shifting mass of people to the dance floor.

He’s making his way through the crowd when dizziness and nausea suddenly hit him. Since drinks go through him crazy fast he chalks it up to his brilliant decision to chug down god knows what kind of alcohol. The people around him bounce him from shoulder to shoulder, making his stomach feel even worse. He’s somewhere around where MJ was, but he can’t make out anyone’s faces. It’s stuffy and hard to stand still with so many moving bodies. 

With a low tingle in the back of his head Peter begins to notice how far away the bar is, and the ceiling, and the floor. Or the floor is too close. Every time he moves his eyes it’s like what he’s seeing is two seconds behind. Standing on his tiptoes, Peter tries to get above the crowd and breathe in some fresh air. It doesn’t feel like he’s really getting oxygen when he inhales, but his exhales are getting more frantic. 

Peter is looking for something, but he can’t find it. A door, maybe. He needs a door for outside. There’s enough light coming from the club entrance for him to make out where he needs to go, but moving to get there is getting more and more difficult. The light keeps flickering and moving around. Just when he thinks he’s going the right way it gets farther away or tilts up the wall. 

As everything begins to shift around him, his stomach begins to roll unpleasantly, a sugary sweet taste filling Peter’s mouth. He no longer feels like the nausea is coming from the dizziness itself, now it’s just his body trying to get rid of whatever is hurting it.

The rising taste of bile at the back of his throat pushes him the last few feet out the club and nearly into the street. There’s too many cars honking and Peter covers his ears, momentarily forgetting about the nausea as his stomach calms down. But a powerful shudder of his spidey sense goes through him and he burps in an odd, cutoff manner.

He barely makes it out of the street to throw up. In fact, he’s not really sure where he is. There’s just concrete and a growing puddle of nastiness at his feet. Stumbling back, Peter twists himself away from the bright lights and noise hoping that getting the drink out of him would help. But rather than clearing up his dizziness, he feels even worse. His vision has gone black around the edge and he’s starting to droop down with exhaustion while his stomach is still clenching. 

Trying to take deep breaths Peter only coughs and retches some more until he’s forced to stop. He can barely stand anymore, his knees are shaking and despite doing everything to fight it, he can barely think about why exactly he shouldn’t fall asleep right now.

Just before he’s ready to collapse on the pitted alley ground, his previously silent senses jolt him back awake, at the same time a hand grabs his forearm roughly. The threat of danger is so jarring that it allows Peter enough energy to slur out a few protests and shove up against the large body behind him, but his feet are moving to keep him upright before he even notices that he’s being dragged along.

“Stop… ow, you’re hurting me…” he croaks as he tries to shout.

His spidey sense is still there, ringing alarm bells in his head, but it’s becoming rapidly drowning out by the oppressive darkness swallowing Peter whole. The hand is no longer hurting him, but he couldn’t move if he had the mental capacity to do so. He can hear a loud noise right in front of him, but the second it falls silent, Peter does too.

* * *

Light flashes behind his eyelids. It stays there for a long time before Peter realizes that it’s not going away. His head and neck move back and forth on the soft surface he’s on, but the rest of his body doesn’t seem to get the memo. Not ready to face the aftermath of whatever he and MJ got up to last night, Peter rolls over as best he can and hopes that his hangover will bother him later.

And oddly, it does. He must’ve drunk a ton last night to pass out, but Peter chalks it up to a super human benefit and settles down for a morning nap all without having opened his eyes. He should at least check on MJ.

He shifts around to wake himself up and is eventually ready to face the disgustingly bright sun. When he opens his eyes it’s not actually that bad. There’s a blur of red. When he rubs away the sleep he’s met with a pair of white, _ blinking _ eyes encircled by black and framed by red. 

Spidey sense gives him a late, almost half hearted zing and he follows that feeling to lift his foot up and kick as hard as he can at the leather clad figure standing at his bedside. Predictably, the guy goes flying backwards and into a wall. Not Peter’s wall though. An unfamiliar wall that Peter has definitely never seen before.

Nor has he seen this bed, or that dresser, or anything in this room and especially not the man who is rubbing at his chest with a groan. “Fuck. What the fuck. What the-,” Peter pauses in his freakout as he suddenly remembers blonde and tall approaching him at the bar and offering him a drink. He’d felt gross after that and ended up outside being dragged by him. Now he’s in this unfamiliar bed, watched over in his sleep by a man dressed in a full body leather suit.

The unfamiliar figure doesn’t have time to lift himself up to one knee before Peter is on him, wrapping a hand tightly around his throat just as he’d grabbed Peter’s arm. 

“You disgusting piece of shit!” Peter yells, his voice cracking at the end. He’s already hyperventilating and a sting is rising at the back of his eyes. If he had his mask on he would’ve hidden his emotional outburst easily, but honestly, he can’t. He wants to go home and sleep but he can’t because _ this worthless sack of meat _ is going to try and hurt him and likely many more after him if he doesn’t stop it from happening.

Peter is already in a better position than any man or woman that this criminal has ever taken advantage of so he’s got to be thankful for that. His strength easily keeps blonde and tall up against the wall although he’s putting up a struggle that Peter wasn’t expecting. Grappling at Peter’s hand, the man is trying to pry open his vice grip with surprising strength and calm. But his fight is getting weaker and weaker as seconds pass until all he’s doing is slapping ineffectually at Peter’s torso.

It’s hard to let go of his neck. It’s even harder to let him drop to the ground and wheeze for breath. Peter won’t do it though. He won’t hurt this man any more than he has to to get him to the police station. Choking someone unconscious only lasts a few seconds if you let go immediately. But any longer than that and Peter would be risking brain damage or death on the man when he should be answering for his crimes.

Scowling down at his hand, Peter shakes off the lingering guilt as blonde and tall finally manages to catch his breath.

“Damn… Take me out on a date first, I’m not that kind of girl.”

Disgust curls around Peter’s throat so fast he wants to let it out with a scream. “How _ fucking dare _ you try to even joke about this, you piece of shit!”

Not wanting to touch him, but also restraining the desire to choke him out again, Peter backs up a few steps and stares the man down. He’s never been this violent with a criminal before. He’s had to stop himself from hurting a criminal more than necessary when his full strength starts to peak through, but never has he had to truly struggle against his desire for vengeance. As Spider-Man he’s able to redirect his focus to the victim, remind himself that the people who were hurt are the ones that need attention, not the perpetrator. But now he’s truly the victim, and he’s got the strength to take revenge.

“Woah! Woah, woah, woah!” The slumped figure holds up a gloved hand, “You think I’m the one who roofied you? Nah, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m the dude who saved you!”

Peter blinks, and then he remembers. After the blast of cars honking at him, there was the rough grip of a large hand and being dragged along. A loud noise, indistinguishable from the sounds of the city and then he couldn’t fight sleep any longer. There’s also his spider sense, strangely calm but still tingling along his spine.

There’s a chance this man is telling the truth but… looking down at him, there isn’t much evidence to support that claim. Peter doesn’t like to judge a book by its cover and all that but when a book’s cover includes black and red BDSM gear, several gun holsters, some emptied and some in use, two swords, and several other small pointed objects strapped to his person it’s hard to imagine him as the savior in this situation.

“Okay… if that’s true, does that mean you saved me and took me here wearing those clothes?” 

The white lenses widen and peer around at his own arms and torso, then back up to Peter, “You gotta problem with my suit? I wear this baby everywhere.”

Suit is an odd way of phrasing it. All he can imagine now is some knock off Spider-Man trying to ruin his reputation even more than it’s already been. “So you’re trying to tell me that you carry around guns, swords, and knives while saving random people from nightclubs.”

He takes in a deep breath, then quickly nods, “Yeah, sounds about right. Look, I’m gonna stand up now. You can leave if you’d like, the front door is right down the hall, left into the living room, watch out for Mr. Roomba, he’s got my last steak knife.”

Peter pushes his shoulder down until the man is back on the floor “Leave? Why, so you can go out tonight and pull this trick on someone else until it works?” He realizes he’s yelling when his voice cracks.

“Because you’re clearly uncomfortable being here!” Sticking out both palms in submission the man slowly rises up using the wall until he’s half crouched. “Look, I understand that maybe taking you to my home was a bad idea, but I really didn’t want you to leave you alone in a strange place to try and figure out what happened. I don’t know what that guy gave you but you seemed really fucked up and I’ve actually dealt with things like this before. I get that some dude in a big red condom standing over you after you wake up from a roofie is not the best impression but clearly… you’ve got more than human strength, right?”

“It-uh,” Peter stumbles. He needs his mask to hide his wide eyes and panicked look, but he’s got nothing against this man except his own physical strength, which isn’t even a surprise anymore. “Adrenaline rush causes the muscles to ignore the natural limits that the body uses to preserve itself from self harm. I… it was just adrenaline.”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m a mutant myself. Well, mutate but I don’t discriminate. Oh, that should be my new slogan!”

Shaking his head furiously Peter steps a foot back into a better stance for fighting, “I’m not leaving here until I know for certain that you weren’t the man who drugged me and-and may have,” he grits his teeth through sudden panic, “May have done something… or you’re leaving with me so I can turn you in!”

“Alright, alright, woah. Deep breaths there. Listen, I’m not going to try and ask your name, but nothing happened. You’re okay,” he calmly lifts his hands and rises to his full height, “My name is Wade by the way.”

Trying very hard not to start crying or panicking Peter takes a few breaths and darts his eyes around the room for a weapon. It’s not hard to find one, just to pick which one he wants. Creeping back a few inches Peter scowls at the man.

“How the hell does that help me! You didn’t bother giving me your name before _ date raping me!” _

“Because I didn’t DATE RAPE YOU!” Wade yells, his hands wildly pinwheeling about. His Spider sense is doing a tap dance each time Wade swipes through the air. They both catch each other flinching away, and stay silent for an awkward few seconds before Wade steps back to the wall again. “I wasn’t even there, Jesus’s tits,” he mumbles while scrubbing at the back of his mask.

“Well, excuse me for being a bit suspicious of waking up to a masked man covered in knives holding me in his bedroom!”

“I- Fucking! I’m not! I told you could leave, it’s not my fault if you aren’t leaving!”

“Take your mask off! If it’s not you, then I’ll go! But I already told you I’m leaving so that you can go on to find a more helpless victim!”

Wade pauses and quirks his head around oddly. His fingers itch around something invisible before he slumps over dramatically. “I can’t do that.”

As quick as a shot, Peter is across the room and grabbing a machete larger than his forearm from an overflowing dresser. Peter has never really fought a knife or sword before but he’d like to think that his time vigilante-ing around has given him some insight into weaponry. Holding it in front of him, Peter does his best not to look intimidated by the razor sharp tool he’s wielding.

Somehow, despite that stupid mask, he can tell that Wade is raising his eyebrows in an impressed if flippant manner.

“You gonna… stab me?” Wade shrugs.

Baring his teeth, Peter steps forward. His palms are already sweaty and all he wants to do is run and never look back but something in his stance must force Wade to realize that Peter truly isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“What I’m going to do is pin you down and shred that fucking mask off until I see your face and realize you’re the one who drugged me and then I’m going to grab you by the neck and _ drag you _to the nearest police station so I can watch you get put behind bars myself!”

Wade is completely still, eye to eye with Peter.

“Oh, oh damn, okay. Wow,” he quirks his head again, then shakes himself out like a wet dog, “You’re not gonna like this.”

“No shit! I don’t like this whole situation! Really puts a damper on a guys night, you know? What’s wrong? No excuses this time? No playing the victim card on the goddamn victim? You really make me sick. I’ve dealt with a lot of horrible people, but you really…”

His mask is off. Not even all the way, it’s still sitting on top of his head. He’s bald. Sort of. Peter wonders if there’s a different way of describing a person who’s bald because of literally can’t grow any hair. His face is… an odd texture. Or it looks like it is. He wants to touch it. But that would be rude. Not as rude as accusing the person who saved you of drugging and possibly sexually assaulting you, but still pretty rude.

“Shit,” Peter says feelingly as he drops the machete.

Wade has his eyes fixed on a point on the ground but he looks furious, “Happy now?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Peter says it without thinking, because it’s true that no matter how awkward the situation is or how angry this man is with him, he feels a million times better knowing that he isn’t trapped in a room with his attacker. That he was _ saved. _

“Oh,” says Wade, shoving his mask back down slightly crooked. At the same time Peter drops to his knees, exhausted and finally able to panic because holy shit he was drugged and almost taken home by a stranger last night.

Groaning, Peter keeps himself upright by leaning all his weight into his hands until he can’t even do that so he just collapses on the floor in a fetal position. After a few moments of heavy breathing, Wade joins him on the floor in a starfish.

“I need to go home,” Peter says once he has an eerie sense of calm come over him.

Wade just nods and says, “I didn’t check through your stuff but I did take everything out of your pockets. There were two phones, a wallet, and a pack of cinnamon altoids and I did eat several of those.” He points to a chair filled with normal, non-leather clothes.

“It’s okay. They’re MJ’s.”

Neither of them move from the floor. Peter is actually quite comfortable right where he is and when he thinks about having to walk home, and likely take the subway, there’s a pit in his stomach. All those people crowding around him the same way they had at the club. Nauseous and floating from shoulder to shoulder as he was pinballed around the floor. He lifts himself from the floor the same way he made his way down in reverse. 

Stepping over the machete and Wade, Peter shuffles through a pile of assorted items on top of a laundry chair. The few items that he’d carried with him at the club are right there, included all the money and cards he had in his wallet.

Seeing that only MJ’s locked phone has enough battery to turn on he pockets everything. He turns back halfway out the door and looks at Wade still starfished out, almost touching the dropped machete. “Thanks,” he simply says and then follows the directions Wade had first given him to leave the apartment.

He hears the cars before he’s even out the living room. Nothing on this street, but the next one over, or maybe the one after that, maybe both. They’re honking and screeching past one another. 

He tells himself that it’s not night time and there won’t be the flashing lights growing brighter and bigger. He’s going to be okay.

Wade thumps up from behind him, looking at the front door as if he can hear all the cars too. Maybe he can, but he can’t remember the fear Peter had felt as his vision began to fail him or the way his body had felt like it was being dipped in a vat of tar with no way to fight.

“I can take you home if you’d like,” Wade says quietly and Peter can’t do anything but nod gratefully.

* * *

Wade makes him stop in the kitchen before they leave to take any snacks or food he wants. A combination of not eating since early last night and simply needing the comfort of a full stomach makes Peter dig through Wade’s meager supplies until he can make a crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich.

He’s halfway through it by the time Wade drops off a small number of weapons from his person and calls him to the door. Carrying a duffel bag and swiping through a sticker covered flip phone Wade asks him, “Ready?” and waits for Peter to nod around a mouthful of peanut butter before opening the door. 

The apartment dumps them right out into the street. To call what they’re standing on a sidewalk would make city planners cry. There are large chunks of pavement missing from the road itself. Overall Peter only needs to do a quick sweep to tell that the neighborhood Wade lives in isn’t impoverished so much as it’s nonexistent. Other than the building they came out of Peter can only hear a few people around who aren’t in the weirdly shaped warehouse style buildings.

“Let’s see here… okay! I’m in the Tenderloin district because I liked the name and there’s a lot of nice ladies here. How do you wanna get home?” Wade leans over into Peter’s space to show him a tiny map on his phone screen.

Right, he would have to show Wade where he lived. Wade, a man in a red and black leather suit. Carrying guns. And knives. How the hell is he going to get out of this?

“Uh, Wade. You know what? I’m good, I can go home now. Right now. Alone, by myself.” Peter stumbles over his words.

Wade tips back to the side, leaning away in silence for a brief second before letting out a dejected “Oh.”

And that ‘oh’ stabs him right in the heart. Peter dropkicked this guy across the room and then strangled him after being saved. Maybe Peter could be called gullible for believing that this stranger has any good intentions but it seemed like he was willing to let Peter go alone until he figured he would need an escort. 

“Well…” Peter starts, against his better judgement, “You can come with of course. I was just going to say that I do know how to get home from here.”

“If you know the way though, I’ll just walk you to the subway.” Wade trailed off, fiddling with the phone in his hand.

“It’s really far!” he blurts out.

“Really?” Wade perks back up.

“Really, really. And, okay I’ll be honest, I would feel a _ lot _better if you took me back home. It’s just...” Peter lifts his palms up and down, weighing the options of how he wants to put this. “You look like a superhero on a bad power trip?”

Just as Peter was hoping, Wade laughs and nods in agreement. “You’re not wrong there! I guess I kinda am? Super without the hero, ya know? Not a bad guy, but had some bad years.”

“If that’s what you look like after a few bad years I don’t think anyone could handle you after some good ones,” Peter laughs along.

“Ha! Fake laugh hiding real- wait… wait, wait, wait. Did you just compliment me?”

Confused, Peter hesitantly says, “Yes?”

“You. Compliment me? Like my appearance?”

“I wasn’t complimenting your social skills, so yeah. Why is that so hard to believe?”

Wade peers at Peter suspiciously before giggling in a surprisingly high pitch.

“Damn. You’ve got some horrible eyesight, baby boy. Lemme go put on some civvies, but I’m still wearing the mask!”

“Er, al-” the front door slams closed, “-right.”

Peter waits outside for just a few minutes before Wade is charging back outside already talking a mile a minute and dressed in a black hoodie and cargo pants. True to his word he’s still got his mask on as well as his gloves and the same combat boots, but without the clinging shape of the suit he looks far more relaxed. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine hanging out with Wade in a normal setting, maybe enjoying a beer or a meal, when he’s dressed like this. 

Shaking the thoughts from his head Peter hurries to match his stride, already laughing at all of Wade’s jokes. 

For much of their trip it’s exactly how their conversation outside Wade’s apartment went. Anytime Peter participates equally in the banter or adds to his commentary, Wade seems to struggle to believe that Peter means it genuinely. Unsure of Wade’s history, Peter lets all of the hesitancies slide in favor of trying to get him to talk about something other than gunning down a child labor ring while they’re on the first subway. 

Peter wasn’t lying when he said he lived far away. The usual trip from where Wade lived to his own apartment is a little under an hour. With rush hour traffic, and normal traffic, the trip takes almost an hour and a half, including the train they missed and the taxis that refused to take Wade. During much of that time it’s Wade talking, but Peter is no slouch when it comes to wild stories. A combination of his time as a TA in a chemistry lab and some modified Spider-Man stories lets Peter go on his own tangents as well. And Wade listens excitedly to them all. Maybe it strokes his ego a bit too much, but Peter feels like he’s riding on a high from all the positive attention Wade is giving him. 

Once he realizes that Peter isn’t averse to touch, Wade often makes grand gestures into Peter’s space, jostles him around as he gets to the climax of a story or, at one memorable moment, shields Peter with a hug from a truck splashing into a puddle.

There’s something stunning about Wade touching him. The contact feels natural and Peter even manages to reciprocate at some points. That image of the two of them enjoying a beer and some takeout, maybe watching a movie or in the middle of video games flashes before Peter’s eyes right as they get to his building.

“And this is me! I, uh, live here,” Peter motions vaguely at the rundown complex.

“Right. I’ll leave I guess, walk away really. Turn around? So I don’t know where you live and stab you or something,” he cuts off with an odd laugh, “Not that I stab you! Would! Would stab you! I like you!”

“You do?” Peter says, too quickly.

Scuffing his boot, Wade nods to the ground, “Yeah. You were fun to hang out with. I got to get choked out by a hot twink with an ass like Spider-Man. Who wouldn’t like that?”

The mention of his pseudonym stings his Spider sense a bit but just like all this morning it remains eerily soft.

“I’m really sorry about that! God, I almost seriously hurt you after you got me out of that horrible situation. I’m sorry Wade.”

“I just told you I liked it!”

Already used to his sense of humor Peter rolls his eyes and concedes the point. He doesn’t want the conversation to end however. Time has flown by so fast and Peter doesn’t want to end it standing outside his run down building while Wade awkwardly shuffles away like he’s trying to do right now.

“Do you want to go on a date?”

That stops Wade in his tracks. “Do I…? Do I want.”

“Yes, I’m asking. Would you like to go on a date with me? Maybe, this weekend if you’ve got the time,” Peter says while bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I- yeah, free. I’m free! Um, me, right?” Wade waves a finger around before pointing at his chest.

Laughing, Peter tries not to sway too drunkenly over to Wade. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, but it’s the only thing stopping the goofy ass smile Peter wants to let go.

“Since I don’t have a working phone with me I guess we’ll just have to do this the old fashioned way. I can memorize your number unless you’ve got a pen on you.”

Wade rapidly slaps at his body and suddenly produces a business card out of a back pocket. “Here. My number, but it is my business phone so you’ll have to let me know it’s you. Then… I’ll give you my personal number?”

Taking the card from Wade’s hand Peter tries to calm down the erotic and romantic thoughts dancing around under the pretense of examining the number. His lip slips out and Peter’s face hurts from smiling so hard. “Yeah, I’d really like that. I’ll see you around some time?”

With that last word, Peter stands up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Wade’s mask before running inside the building. Before he heads for the stairwell, however, he peers over his shoulder out the shaded window. Wade is stock still for a few seconds, then suddenly jolts out of his shock and pinwheels his arms about in wild fist pumps, scaring a passing dad and his child.

Peter’s smile follows him all the way up to his shitty one room apartment.


End file.
